The Great Pestilence

“There could be treasure.”

Aapo Forsman stood beside a stone well on the outskirts of his town, peering into the mesmerizing darkness. It took hold of his juvenile body, pulling him from the troubles of reality. The well seemed calm. It seemed safe. A safehouse. Perhaps it could be Aapo’s castle, his bastion from the neighbors. The “bitchy hen’s” children. Katja brushed her hair over her shoulder, standing beside Aapo as he brushed his fingers along the sides of the wellhead.

“You go inside that shithole, I’ll tear out your retainer and break it off in your ass.”

Aapo curled himself onto the grass. The tepid, Scandinavian sunlight cast a beam on him, lifting him off the ground.

“Katja,” he whispered. “I’m flying, Katja.”

“I’m sure you are. Your ADD medications would beg to differ.”

The soaring feeling evanesced. Aapo’s interest returned to the wellbore. He hoisted himself onto the well’s eroded, stone edge, allowing his feet to dangle above the void below.

“I wonder how deep it stretches.”

Aapo lowered himself steadily, until only his neck remained surfaced over the brick structure. He swayed his feet, finding a loose brick to support himself on. Cautiously, Aapo submerged deeper into the cavity, feeling the thundering Nordic breeze of the surface loose it’s sway over him.

“Aapo? Aapo, I swear to God...”

“Calm down. I’ve done this before.”

The bricks felt crisp, like cubes of ice to Aapo’s hands. The soles of his shoes fit effortlessly into cracked slabs, allowing him to maintain his balance as he was completely ingested by the ruins.

“Aapo...”

“I’m fin-....

A step collapsed under Aapo’s mass. The falling feeling felt almost fictitious. As if time had slowed as the world began to pass him. Any light given off through the pit’s entrance began to wither away. The feeling ceased as he abruptly landed onto a pile of cloth and pillows. A jagged rock swept across his knee, leaving little more than a flesh wound.

Aapo weakly rose to his feet. His eyes adjusted to the darkness surrounding him. The soft fabrics that had padded his fall were children’s clothes, sprawled across the cave’s center. As if others had fallen before him. Katja had followed after him, allowing herself to fall beside him.

“Jesus, your arm, your....”

Katja drove her hand across his face, cussing under her breath.

“You FUCKING IDIOT. Thanks to your sense of balance, we’re trapped in some hobo’s sex dungeon overnight.”

“Sex dungeon?”

“No, it...” She buried her pastel face into her arms. “To hell with it. Aiti and Isa will find us here. They’ve always found us.”

The cavern had a strong, chemical odor. Like ammonia, almost. There no stones left unclaimed by swarms of insects. It suddenly occurred to Katja that Aapo had left her, wandering as he always had. He didn’t dare leave what the outside light touched. It is his shield from the darkness. From the cold. There were inscriptions sprawled across the cove walls, most of them being undecipherable writing and cryptic symbols. There were glass shards sprinkled across the ground, some of which were coated in what appeared to be blood.

A specific image cast a shadow over the other writings. It was an abraded engraving of several men, wearing the skulls of birds over their faces, standing in a line, their hands linked. Each held a stocky sword, dripping an undistinguished liquid. A child was standing among the men. Aapo illuminated the image with his phone’s light. Maggots and centipedes had begun to burrow into his hollow eyes.

“Katja, I think I found one of those pagan sects.”

“Fuck, why can’t you be like other kids?”

“I know, I just...what is that?”

Resting in a nest of denticulated rocks was a small, plastic bag, plastered in labels. It was torn at the sides. A transparent substance had begun to discharge from the holes, spilling onto the ground surrounding it.

“What is this, a Medieval condom or something?”

Flies had begun to flock to the pool of chemicals. Movement in the dusk caught Aapo’s attention. Like feather’s ruffling in the dark.

“I saw something.”

“Shut up, I think I heard Aiti calling for us. They’ll...”

Aapo screamed, falling into Katja’s arms. There was a tall man gaping over them, a vacant white respirator concealing his face. He wore a grey uniform, coated by an army green vest. Särskilda Operationsgruppen was inscribed into his attire in white text. Katja extricated her grip over Aapo. This man was a member of det Rektor’s elite.

They stood there in silence, for what felt to be the longest time. Katja swayed anxiously. Her arms pressed onto Aapo’s chest. She heard Isa calling their names on the surface, the syllables pulsating through the cavern.

“Don’t be frightened,” the man soothed. “The Pestilence is a wonderful thing.”

A termite writhed from his neck, resting atop Aapo’s foot. The cries of their names began to grow as Aiti and Isa neared them. Tears began to seep from Aapo, his mouth muffled by Katja’s hand. He could smell the strong savor of alcohol. She’d been drinking.

“How does it feel to be sick, Aapo?” he whispered

“I...I don’t know, min herr.”

Katja’s lip quivered. Stillness. The man proffered his hand. It was stained with the matching sap from the floor. He was surrounded by an aroma of burned flesh.

“Come with me. Our unit is taking shelter here as the civilians strife among themselves. We will keep you sheltered. From the Scourge.”

“Aapo! Katja!”

Aapo tread forward timidly. He coughed into his arm. The dry, painful sensation burned in his throat. He threw himself to his knees, falling into a raging fit of coughs. Flies writhed across his body. The stale fumes bled into his hazel eyes/

“My throat, min herr...my throat is burning!” The man’s head twitched anxiously. Katja saw his left eye through his shattered visor, his brown eyes growing in fascination. He didn’t dare help, only watched and took observations. Aiti and Isa’s cries were nearly all but audible.

“AAPO! KATJA!” Katja broke from her brother’s side and hollered in the direction of her parents’ voices. A chicken-wire stiffened around her neck, the cold metal piercing through her flesh as she took her final breathes. All that remained of Katja Forsman was a headless, blood-tainted torso. The man carelessly threw her remains aside. His focus remained fixated on Aapo. Maggots had begun to feed on the child’s peeling skin.

“The fever will harm you no longer.” The masked assailant hoisted Aapo’s diseased body onto his shoulder, carrying him far from the light. The boy had drifted to a state between life and death. Between consciousness and obliviousness.

“I assure you...the Pestilence is a wonderful thing.” Isa and Aiti found nothing remaining of their children. Only the cobble well, resting on the hill in the outskirts of their town. They took each other into their arms. A lock of golden hair blew into Isa’s chest. Their children remained lost to history. A tree fallen in the thicket of the forest.